Sweltering nights

Sweat clings to my body like a second skin. The mercury has refused to drop below 20 degrees for the last four days, maybe more. My sheets lie unused, as I swelter on my bedcover.

The warm, humid air hovers in from the Pacific northeast. Blanket-grey cloud cover suspends itself overtop. We're like potatoes rotting under the moist sack of air, curling out white-green tendrils from our brains. Sweat stains encircle my shirt seams. I wash them but they never seem to fully dry out. I take them off the line with the same oppressive scent in the outside air, like a fat lady with a thin-hair moustache hugging me in her sweaty, pudgy arms.

An outline of the thin moon shines through the haze. All day the air has packed in moisture but remains thick and tense, unwilling to seek release, to form droplets that fall to the ground and take the heat with it. I've found refuge at work, a citadel protected by a stand of air conditioning units that cool and dry the air for our comfort and relief. But at 5pm I must push my bicycle back into the thick air, atrophy on my couch, and endure another night half-sleeping, half-swimming in the darkness.

But it won't last forever. My eyes picked up at the sight of a high pressure system moving in from the Tasman, with a southerly breeze as its vanguard. It will bring midday heat, yes, but it will also bring cool mornings, bright sunlight, and dry air. My skin prickles at the thought.